Dead Souls

by Nikolai Vasilevich Gogol

  CHAPTER XI

  Nevertheless events did not turn out as Chichikov had intended theyshould. In the first place, he overslept himself. That was check numberone. In the second place, on his rising and inquiring whether thebritchka had been harnessed and everything got ready, he was informedthat neither of those two things had been done. That was check numbertwo. Beside himself with rage, he prepared to give Selifan the wiggingof his life, and, meanwhile, waited impatiently to hear what thedelinquent had got to say in his defence. It goes without saying thatwhen Selifan made his appearance in the doorway he had only the usualexcuses to offer--the sort of excuses usually offered by servants when ahasty departure has become imperatively necessary.

  "Paul Ivanovitch," he said, "the horses require shoeing."

  "Blockhead!" exclaimed Chichikov. "Why did you not tell me of thatbefore, you damned fool? Was there not time enough for them to be shod?"

  "Yes, I suppose there was," agreed Selifan. "Also one of the wheels isin want of a new tyre, for the roads are so rough that the old tyre isworn through. Also, the body of the britchka is so rickety that probablyit will not last more than a couple of stages."

  "Rascal!" shouted Chichikov, clenching his fists and approaching Selifanin such a manner that, fearing to receive a blow, the man backed anddodged aside. "Do you mean to ruin me, and to break all our bones on theroad, you cursed idiot? For these three weeks past you have been doingnothing at all; yet now, at the last moment, you come here stammeringand playing the fool! Do you think I keep you just to eat and to driveyourself about? You must have known of this before? Did you, or did younot, know it? Answer me at once."

  "Yes, I did know it," replied Selifan, hanging his head.

  "Then why didn't you tell me about it?"

  Selifan had no reply immediately ready, so continued to hang his headwhile quietly saying to himself: "See how well I have managed things! Iknew what was the matter, yet I did not say."

  "And now," continued Chichikov, "go you at once and fetch a blacksmith.Tell him that everything must be put right within two hours at the most.Do you hear? If that should not be done, I, I--I will give you the bestflogging that ever you had in your life." Truly Chichikov was almostbeside himself with fury.

  Turning towards the door, as though for the purpose of going andcarrying out his orders, Selifan halted and added:

  "That skewbald, barin--you might think it well to sell him, seeing thathe is nothing but a rascal? A horse like that is more of a hindrancethan a help."

  "What? Do you expect me to go NOW to the market-place and sell him?"

  "Well, Paul Ivanovitch, he is good for nothing but show, since by naturehe is a most cunning beast. Never in my life have I seen such a horse."

  "Fool! Whenever I may wish to sell him I SHALL sell him. Meanwhile,don't you trouble your head about what doesn't concern you, but go andfetch a blacksmith, and see that everything is put right within twohours. Otherwise I will take the very hair off your head, and beat youtill you haven't a face left. Be off! Hurry!"

  Selifan departed, and Chichikov, his ill-humour vented, threw downupon the floor the poignard which he always took with him as a means ofinstilling respect into whomsoever it might concern, and spent the nextquarter of an hour in disputing with a couple of blacksmiths--men who,as usual, were rascals of the type which, on perceiving that somethingis wanted in a hurry, at once multiplies its terms for providing thesame. Indeed, for all Chichikov's storming and raging as he dubbedthe fellows robbers and extortioners and thieves, he could make noimpression upon the pair, since, true to their character, they declinedto abate their prices, and, even when they had begun their work, spentupon it, not two hours, but five and a half. Meanwhile he had thesatisfaction of experiencing that delightful time with which alltravellers are familiar--namely, the time during which one sits in aroom where, except for a litter of string, waste paper, and so forth,everything else has been packed. But to all things there comes an end,and there arrived also the long-awaited moment when the britchka hadreceived the luggage, the faulty wheel had been fitted with a new tyre,the horses had been re-shod, and the predatory blacksmiths had departedwith their gains. "Thank God!" thought Chichikov as the britchka rolledout of the gates of the inn, and the vehicle began to jolt over thecobblestones. Yet a feeling which he could not altogether have definedfilled his breast as he gazed upon the houses and the streets and thegarden walls which he might never see again. Presently, on turning acorner, the britchka was brought to a halt through the fact that alongthe street there was filing a seemingly endless funeral procession.Leaning forward in his britchka, Chichikov asked Petrushka whoseobsequies the procession represented, and was told that they representedthose of the Public Prosecutor. Disagreeably shocked, our hero hastenedto raise the hood of the vehicle, to draw the curtains across thewindows, and to lean back into a corner. While the britchka remainedthus halted Selifan and Petrushka, their caps doffed, sat watching theprogress of the cortege, after they had received strict instructions notto greet any fellow-servant whom they might recognise. Behind the hearsewalked the whole body of tchinovniks, bare-headed; and though, for amoment or two, Chichikov feared that some of their number might discernhim in his britchka, he need not have disturbed himself, since theirattention was otherwise engaged. In fact, they were not even exchangingthe small talk customary among members of such processions, butthinking exclusively of their own affairs, of the advent of the newGovernor-General, and of the probable manner in which he would take upthe reins of administration. Next came a number of carriages, fromthe windows of which peered the ladies in mourning toilets. Yet themovements of their hands and lips made it evident that they wereindulging in animated conversation--probably about the Governor-General,the balls which he might be expected to give, and their own eternalfripperies and gewgaws. Lastly came a few empty drozhkis. As soon as thelatter had passed, our hero was able to continue on his way. Throwingback the hood of the britchka, he said to himself:

  "Ah, good friend, you have lived your life, and now it is over! In thenewspapers they will say of you that you died regretted not only byyour subordinates, but also by humanity at large, as well as that, arespected citizen, a kind father, and a husband beyond reproach, youwent to your grave amid the tears of your widow and orphans. Yet, shouldthose journals be put to it to name any particular circumstance whichjustified this eulogy of you, they would be forced to fall back upon thefact that you grew a pair of exceptionally thick eyebrows!"

  With that Chichikov bid Selifan quicken his pace, and concluded: "Afterall, it is as well that I encountered the procession, for they say thatto meet a funeral is lucky."

  Presently the britchka turned into some less frequented streets, linesof wooden fencing of the kind which mark the outskirts of a town beganto file by, the cobblestones came to an end, the macadam of the highroadsucceeded to them, and once more there began on either side of theturnpike a procession of verst stones, road menders, and grey villages;inns with samovars and peasant women and landlords who came running outof yards with seivefuls of oats; pedestrians in worn shoes which, itmight be, had covered eight hundred versts; little towns, bright withbooths for the sale of flour in barrels, boots, small loaves, and othertrifles; heaps of slag; much repaired bridges; expanses of field toright and to left; stout landowners; a mounted soldier bearing a green,iron-clamped box inscribed: "The --th Battery of Artillery"; long stripsof freshly-tilled earth which gleamed green, yellow, and black on theface of the countryside. With it mingled long-drawn singing, glimpses ofelm-tops amid mist, the far-off notes of bells, endless clouds of rocks,and the illimitable line of the horizon.

  Ah, Russia, Russia, from my beautiful home in a strange land I can stillsee you! In you everything is poor and disordered and unhomely; in youthe eye is neither cheered nor dismayed by temerities of nature whicha yet more temerarious art has conquered; in you one beholds no citieswith lofty, many-windowed mansions, lofty as crags, no picturesquetrees, no ivy-clad ruins, no waterfalls with their everlasting s
pray androar, no beetling precipices which confuse the brain with their stonyimmensity, no vistas of vines and ivy and millions of wild roses andageless lines of blue hills which look almost unreal against the clear,silvery background of the sky. In you everything is flat and open; yourtowns project like points or signals from smooth levels of plain, andnothing whatsoever enchants or deludes the eye. Yet what secret, whatinvincible force draws me to you? Why does there ceaselessly echo andre-echo in my ears the sad song which hovers throughout the length andthe breadth of your borders? What is the burden of that song? Why doesit wail and sob and catch at my heart? What say the notes whichthus painfully caress and embrace my soul, and flit, uttering theirlamentations, around me? What is it you seek of me, O Russia? What isthe hidden bond which subsists between us? Why do you regard me as youdo? Why does everything within you turn upon me eyes full ofyearning? Even at this moment, as I stand dumbly, fixedly, perplexedlycontemplating your vastness, a menacing cloud, charged with gatheringrain, seems to overshadow my head. What is it that your boundlessexpanses presage? Do they not presage that one day there will arise inyou ideas as boundless as yourself? Do they not presage that one day youtoo will know no limits? Do they not presage that one day, when againyou shall have room for their exploits, there will spring to lifethe heroes of old? How the power of your immensity enfolds me, andreverberates through all my being with a wild, strange spell, andflashes in my eyes with an almost supernatural radiance! Yes, a strange,brilliant, unearthly vista indeed do you disclose, O Russia, country ofmine!

  "Stop, stop, you fool!" shouted Chichikov to Selifan; and even as hespoke a troika, bound on Government business, came chattering by, anddisappeared in a cloud of dust. To Chichikov's curses at Selifan for nothaving drawn out of the way with more alacrity a rural constable withmoustaches of the length of an arshin added his quota.

  What a curious and attractive, yet also what an unreal, fascinationthe term "highway" connotes! And how interesting for its own sake isa highway! Should the day be a fine one (though chilly) in mellowingautumn, press closer your travelling cloak, and draw down your cap overyour ears, and snuggle cosily, comfortably into a corner of the britchkabefore a last shiver shall course through your limbs, and the ensuingwarmth shall put to flight the autumnal cold and damp. As the horsesgallop on their way, how delightfully will drowsiness come stealing uponyou, and make your eyelids droop! For a while, through your somnolence,you will continue to hear the hard breathing of the team and therumbling of the wheels; but at length, sinking back into your corner,you will relapse into the stage of snoring. And when you awake--behold!you will find that five stages have slipped away, and that the moon isshining, and that you have reached a strange town of churches and oldwooden cupolas and blackened spires and white, half-timbered houses! Andas the moonlight glints hither and thither, almost you will believe thatthe walls and the streets and the pavements of the place are spread withsheets--sheets shot with coal-black shadows which make the wooden roofslook all the brighter under the slanting beams of the pale luminary.Nowhere is a soul to be seen, for every one is plunged in slumber. Yetno. In a solitary window a light is flickering where some good burgheris mending his boots, or a baker drawing a batch of dough. O nightand powers of heaven, how perfect is the blackness of your infinitevault--how lofty, how remote its inaccessible depths where it liesspread in an intangible, yet audible, silence! Freshly does the lullingbreath of night blow in your face, until once more you relapse intosnoring oblivion, and your poor neighbour turns angrily in his corner ashe begins to be conscious of your weight. Then again you awake, butthis time to find yourself confronted with only fields and steppes.Everywhere in the ascendant is the desolation of space. But suddenly theciphers on a verst stone leap to the eye! Morning is rising, and on thechill, gradually paling line of the horizon you can see gleaming a faintgold streak. The wind freshens and grows keener, and you snuggle closerin your cloak; yet how glorious is that freshness, and how marvellousthe sleep in which once again you become enfolded! A jolt!--and for thelast time you return to consciousness. By now the sun is high in theheavens, and you hear a voice cry "gently, gently!" as a farm waggonissues from a by-road. Below, enclosed within an ample dike, stretchesa sheet of water which glistens like copper in the sunlight. Beyond, onthe side of a slope, lie some scattered peasants' huts, a manor house,and, flanking the latter, a village church with its cross flashinglike a star. There also comes wafted to your ear the sound of peasants'laughter, while in your inner man you are becoming conscious of anappetite which is not to be withstood.

  Oh long-drawn highway, how excellent you are! How often have I inweariness and despondency set forth upon your length, and found in yousalvation and rest! How often, as I followed your leading, have I beenvisited with wonderful thoughts and poetic dreams and curious, wildimpressions!

  At this moment our friend Chichikov also was experiencing visions of anot wholly prosaic nature. Let us peep into his soul and share them.At first he remained unconscious of anything whatsoever, for he was toomuch engaged in making sure that he was really clear of the town; butas soon as he saw that it had completely disappeared, with its mills andfactories and other urban appurtenances, and that even the steeplesof the white stone churches had sunk below the horizon, he turned hisattention to the road, and the town of N. vanished from his thoughts ascompletely as though he had not seen it since childhood. Again, in itsturn, the road ceased to interest him, and he began to close his eyesand to loll his head against the cushions. Of this let the authortake advantage, in order to speak at length concerning his hero; sincehitherto he (the author) has been prevented from so doing by Nozdrev andballs and ladies and local intrigues--by those thousand trifles whichseem trifles only when they are introduced into a book, but which, inlife, figure as affairs of importance. Let us lay them aside, and betakeourselves to business.

  Whether the character whom I have selected for my hero has pleased myreaders is, of course, exceedingly doubtful. At all events the ladieswill have failed to approve him for the fair sex demands in a heroperfection, and, should there be the least mental or physical stainon him--well, woe betide! Yes, no matter how profoundly the author mayprobe that hero's soul, no matter how clearly he may portray his figureas in a mirror, he will be given no credit for the achievement. Indeed,Chichikov's very stoutness and plenitude of years may have militatedagainst him, for never is a hero pardoned for the former, and themajority of ladies will, in such case, turn away, and mutter tothemselves: "Phew! What a beast!" Yes, the author is well aware of this.Yet, though he could not, to save his life, take a person of virtue forhis principal character, it may be that this story contains themesnever before selected, and that in it there projects the whole boundlesswealth of Russian psychology; that it portrays, as well as Chichikov,the peasant who is gifted with the virtues which God has sent him, andthe marvellous maiden of Russia who has not her like in all the worldfor her beautiful feminine spirituality, the roots of which lie buriedin noble aspirations and boundless self-denial. In fact, compared withthese types, the virtuous of other races seem lifeless, as does aninanimate volume when compared with the living word. Yes, each time thatthere arises in Russia a movement of thought, it becomes clear that themovement sinks deep into the Slavonic nature where it would but haveskimmed the surface of other nations.--But why am I talking like this?Whither am I tending? It is indeed shameful that an author who longago reached man's estate, and was brought up to a course of severeintrospection and sober, solitary self-enlightenment, should give way tosuch jejune wandering from the point. To everything its proper timeand place and turn. As I was saying, it does not lie in me to take avirtuous character for my hero: and I will tell you why. It is becauseit is high time that a rest were given to the "poor, but virtuous"individual; it is because the phrase "a man of worth" has grown into aby-word; it is because the "man of worth" has become converted into ahorse, and there is not a writer but rides him and flogs him, in and outof season; it is because the "man of worth" has been starved unt
il hehas not a shred of his virtue left, and all that remains of his body isbut the ribs and the hide; it is because the "man of worth" is for everbeing smuggled upon the scene; it is because the "man of worth" has atlength forfeited every one's respect. For these reasons do I reaffirmthat it is high time to yoke a rascal to the shafts. Let us yoke thatrascal.

  Our hero's beginnings were both modest and obscure. True, his parentswere dvoriane, but he in no way resembled them. At all events, a short,squab female relative who was present at his birth exclaimed as shelifted up the baby: "He is altogether different from what I had expectedhim to be. He ought to have taken after his maternal grandmother,whereas he has been born, as the proverb has it, 'like not father normother, but like a chance passer-by.'" Thus from the first liferegarded the little Chichikov with sour distaste, and as through a dim,frost-encrusted window. A tiny room with diminutive casements which werenever opened, summer or winter; an invalid father in a dressing-gownlined with lambskin, and with an ailing foot swathed in bandages--a manwho was continually drawing deep breaths, and walking up and down theroom, and spitting into a sandbox; a period of perpetually sitting ona bench with pen in hand and ink on lips and fingers; a period of beingeternally confronted with the copy-book maxim, "Never tell a lie, butobey your superiors, and cherish virtue in your heart;" an everlastingscraping and shuffling of slippers up and down the room; a period ofcontinually hearing a well-known, strident voice exclaim: "So you havebeen playing the fool again!" at times when the child, weary of themortal monotony of his task, had added a superfluous embellishmentto his copy; a period of experiencing the ever-familiar, butever-unpleasant, sensation which ensued upon those words as the boy'sear was painfully twisted between two long fingers bent backwards atthe tips--such is the miserable picture of that youth of which, in laterlife, Chichikov preserved but the faintest of memories! But in thisworld everything is liable to swift and sudden change; and, one day inearly spring, when the rivers had melted, the father set forth withhis little son in a teliezshka [37] drawn by a sorrel steed of the kindknown to horsy folk as a soroka, and having as coachman the diminutivehunchback who, father of the only serf family belonging to the elderChichikov, served as general factotum in the Chichikov establishment.For a day and a half the soroka conveyed them on their way; during whichtime they spent the night at a roadside inn, crossed a river, dined offcold pie and roast mutton, and eventually arrived at the county town. Tothe lad the streets presented a spectacle of unwonted brilliancy, andhe gaped with amazement. Turning into a side alley wherein the mirenecessitated both the most strenuous exertions on the soroka's part andthe most vigorous castigation on the part of the driver and the barin,the conveyance eventually reached the gates of a courtyard which,combined with a small fruit garden containing various bushes, a coupleof apple-trees in blossom, and a mean, dirty little shed, constitutedthe premises attached to an antiquated-looking villa. Here there liveda relative of the Chichikovs, a wizened old lady who went to market inperson and dried her stockings at the samovar. On seeing the boy, shepatted his cheek and expressed satisfaction at his physique; whereuponthe fact became disclosed that here he was to abide for a while, forthe purpose of attending a local school. After a night's rest his fatherprepared to betake himself homeward again; but no tears marked theparting between him and his son, he merely gave the lad a copper or twoand (a far more important thing) the following injunctions. "See here,my boy. Do your lessons well, do not idle or play the fool, and aboveall things, see that you please your teachers. So long as you observethese rules you will make progress, and surpass your fellows, even ifGod shall have denied you brains, and you should fail in your studies.Also, do not consort overmuch with your comrades, for they will do youno good; but, should you do so, then make friends with the richer ofthem, since one day they may be useful to you. Also, never entertain ortreat any one, but see that every one entertains and treats YOU. Lastly,and above all else, keep and save your every kopeck. To save money isthe most important thing in life. Always a friend or a comrade may failyou, and be the first to desert you in a time of adversity; but neverwill a KOPECK fail you, whatever may be your plight. Nothing in theworld cannot be done, cannot be attained, with the aid of money." Theseinjunctions given, the father embraced his son, and set forth on hisreturn; and though the son never again beheld his parent, the latter'swords and precepts sank deep into the little Chichikov's soul.

  The next day young Pavlushka made his first attendance at school. But nospecial aptitude in any branch of learning did he display. Rather, hisdistinguishing characteristics were diligence and neatness. On the otherhand, he developed great intelligence as regards the PRACTICAL aspectof life. In a trice he divined and comprehended how things ought tobe worked, and, from that time forth, bore himself towards hisschool-fellows in such a way that, though they frequently gave himpresents, he not only never returned the compliment, but even onoccasions pocketed the gifts for the mere purpose of selling them again.Also, boy though he was, he acquired the art of self-denial. Of thetrifle which his father had given him on parting he spent not a kopeck,but, the same year, actually added to his little store by fashioninga bullfinch of wax, painting it, and selling the same at a handsomeprofit. Next, as time went on, he engaged in other speculations--inparticular, in the scheme of buying up eatables, taking his seat inclass beside boys who had plenty of pocket-money, and, as soon as suchopulent individuals showed signs of failing attention (and, therefore,of growing appetite), tendering them, from beneath the desk, a roll ofpudding or a piece of gingerbread, and charging according to degreeof appetite and size of portion. He also spent a couple of months intraining a mouse, which he kept confined in a little wooden cage in hisbedroom. At length, when the training had reached the point that, at theseveral words of command, the mouse would stand upon its hind legs,lie down, and get up again, he sold the creature for a respectable sum.Thus, in time, his gains attained the amount of five roubles; whereuponhe made himself a purse and then started to fill a second receptacle ofthe kind. Still more studied was his attitude towards the authorities.No one could sit more quietly in his place on the bench than he. In thesame connection it may be remarked that his teacher was a man who, aboveall things, loved peace and good behaviour, and simply could notabide clever, witty boys, since he suspected them of laughing at him.Consequently any lad who had once attracted the master's attention witha manifestation of intelligence needed but to shuffle in his place, orunintentionally to twitch an eyebrow, for the said master at once toburst into a rage, to turn the supposed offender out of the room, andto visit him with unmerciful punishment. "Ah, my fine fellow," he wouldsay, "I'LL cure you of your impudence and want of respect! I know youthrough and through far better than you know yourself, and will takegood care that you have to go down upon your knees and curb yourappetite." Whereupon the wretched lad would, for no cause of which hewas aware, be forced to wear out his breeches on the floor and go hungryfor days. "Talents and gifts," the schoolmaster would declare, "are somuch rubbish. I respect only good behaviour, and shall award full marksto those who conduct themselves properly, even if they fail to learn asingle letter of their alphabet: whereas to those in whom I may perceivea tendency to jocularity I shall award nothing, even though they shouldoutdo Solon himself." For the same reason he had no great love of theauthor Krylov, in that the latter says in one of his Fables: "In myopinion, the more one sings, the better one works;" and often thepedagogue would relate how, in a former school of his, the silence hadbeen such that a fly could be heard buzzing on the wing, and for thespace of a whole year not a single pupil sneezed or coughed in class,and so complete was the absence of all sound that no one could havetold that there was a soul in the place. Of this mentor young Chichikovspeedily appraised the mentality; wherefore he fashioned his behaviourto correspond with it. Not an eyelid, not an eyebrow, would he stirduring school hours, howsoever many pinches he might receive frombehind; and only when the bell rang would he run to anticipate hisfellows in handing the master the three-cornered
cap which thatdignitary customarily sported, and then to be the first to leave theclass-room, and contrive to meet the master not less than two or threetimes as the latter walked homeward, in order that, on each occasion,he might doff his cap. And the scheme proved entirely successful.Throughout the period of his attendance at school he was held in highfavour, and, on leaving the establishment, received full marks for everysubject, as well as a diploma and a book inscribed (in gilt letters)"For Exemplary Diligence and the Perfection of Good Conduct." By thistime he had grown into a fairly good-looking youth of the age when thechin first calls for a razor; and at about the same period his fatherdied, leaving behind him, as his estate, four waistcoats completely wornout, two ancient frockcoats, and a small sum of money. Apparently he hadbeen skilled only in RECOMMENDING the saving of kopecks--not in ACTUALLYPRACTISING the art. Upon that Chichikov sold the old house and itslittle parcel of land for a thousand roubles, and removed, with hisone serf and the serf's family, to the capital, where he set aboutorganising a new establishment and entering the Civil Service.Simultaneously with his doing so, his old schoolmaster lost (throughstupidity or otherwise) the establishment over which he had hithertopresided, and in which he had set so much store by silence and goodbehaviour. Grief drove him to drink, and when nothing was left, evenfor that purpose, he retired--ill, helpless, and starving--into abroken-down, cheerless hovel. But certain of his former pupils--the sameclever, witty lads whom he had once been wont to accuse of impertinenceand evil conduct generally--heard of his pitiable plight, and collectedfor him what money they could, even to the point of selling their ownnecessaries. Only Chichikov, when appealed to, pleaded inability, andcompromised with a contribution of a single piatak [38]: which hisold schoolfellows straightway returned him--full in the face, andaccompanied with a shout of "Oh, you skinflint!" As for the poorschoolmaster, when he heard what his former pupils had done, he buriedhis face in his hands, and the tears gushed from his failing eyes asfrom those of a helpless infant. "God has brought you but to weep overmy death-bed," he murmured feebly; and added with a profound sigh, onhearing of Chichikov's conduct: "Ah, Pavlushka, how a human being maybecome changed! Once you were a good lad, and gave me no trouble; butnow you are become proud indeed!"

  Yet let it not be inferred from this that our hero's character had grownso blase and hard, or his conscience so blunted, as to preclude hisexperiencing a particle of sympathy or compassion. As a matter of fact,he was capable both of the one and the other, and would have been gladto assist his old teacher had no great sum been required, or had he notbeen called upon to touch the fund which he had decided should remainintact. In other words, the father's injunction, "Guard and save everykopeck," had become a hard and fast rule of the son's. Yet the youth hadno particular attachment to money for money's sake; he was not possessedwith the true instinct for hoarding and niggardliness. Rather, beforehis eyes there floated ever a vision of life and its amenities andadvantages--a vision of carriages and an elegantly furnished house andrecherche dinners; and it was in the hope that some day he might attainthese things that he saved every kopeck and, meanwhile, stinted bothhimself and others. Whenever a rich man passed him by in a splendiddrozhki drawn by swift and handsomely-caparisoned horses, he would haltas though deep in thought, and say to himself, like a man awakeningfrom a long sleep: "That gentleman must have been a financier, he has solittle hair on his brow." In short, everything connected with wealth andplenty produced upon him an ineffaceable impression. Even when he leftschool he took no holiday, so strong in him was the desire to get towork and enter the Civil Service. Yet, for all the encomiums containedin his diploma, he had much ado to procure a nomination to a GovernmentDepartment; and only after a long time was a minor post found for him,at a salary of thirty or forty roubles a year. Nevertheless, wretchedthough this appointment was, he determined, by strict attention tobusiness, to overcome all obstacles, and to win success. And, indeed,the self-denial, the patience, and the economy which he displayedwere remarkable. From early morn until late at night he would, withindefatigable zeal of body and mind, remain immersed in his sordid taskof copying official documents--never going home, snatching what sleep hecould on tables in the building, and dining with the watchman on duty.Yet all the while he contrived to remain clean and neat, to preservea cheerful expression of countenance, and even to cultivate a certainelegance of movement. In passing, it may be remarked that his fellowtchinovniks were a peculiarly plain, unsightly lot, some of them havingfaces like badly baked bread, swollen cheeks, receding chins, andcracked and blistered upper lips. Indeed, not a man of them washandsome. Also, their tone of voice always contained a note ofsullenness, as though they had a mind to knock some one on the head; andby their frequent sacrifices to Bacchus they showed that even yet thereremains in the Slavonic nature a certain element of paganism. Nay, theDirector's room itself they would invade while still licking their lips,and since their breath was not over-aromatic, the atmosphere of the roomgrew not over-pleasant. Naturally, among such an official staff a manlike Chichikov could not fail to attract attention and remark, since ineverything--in cheerfulness of demeanour, in suavity of voice, andin complete neglect of the use of strong potions--he was the absoluteantithesis of his companions. Yet his path was not an easy one to tread,for over him he had the misfortune to have placed in authority a ChiefClerk who was a graven image of elderly insensibility and inertia.Always the same, always unapproachable, this functionary could never inhis life have smiled or asked civilly after an acquaintance's health.Nor had any one ever seen him a whit different in the street or at hisown home from what he was in the office, or showing the least interestin anything whatever, or getting drunk and relapsing into jollity inhis cups, or indulging in that species of wild gaiety which, whenintoxicated, even a burglar affects. No, not a particle of this wasthere in him. Nor, for that matter, was there in him a particle ofanything at all, whether good or bad: which complete negativenessof character produced rather a strange effect. In the same way, hiswizened, marble-like features reminded one of nothing in particular, soprimly proportioned were they. Only the numerous pockmarks and dimpleswith which they were pitted placed him among the number of those overwhose faces, to quote the popular saying, "The Devil has walked by nightto grind peas." In short, it would seem that no human agency could haveapproached such a man and gained his goodwill. Yet Chichikov made theeffort. As a first step, he took to consulting the other's conveniencein all manner of insignificant trifles--to cleaning his pens carefully,and, when they had been prepared exactly to the Chief Clerk's liking,laying them ready at his elbow; to dusting and sweeping from his tableall superfluous sand and tobacco ash; to procuring a new mat for hisinkstand; to looking for his hat--the meanest-looking hat that everthe world beheld--and having it ready for him at the exact moment whenbusiness came to an end; to brushing his back if it happened to becomesmeared with whitewash from a wall. Yet all this passed as unnoticedas though it had never been done. Finally, Chichikov sniffed into hissuperior's family and domestic life, and learnt that he possessed agrown-up daughter on whose face also there had taken place a nocturnal,diabolical grinding of peas. HERE was a quarter whence a fresh attackmight be delivered! After ascertaining what church the daughter attendedon Sundays, our hero took to contriving to meet her in a neat suit and awell-starched dickey: and soon the scheme began to work. The surly ChiefClerk wavered for a while; then ended by inviting Chichikov to tea. Norcould any man in the office have told you how it came about that beforelong Chichikov had removed to the Chief Clerk's house, and become aperson necessary--indeed indispensable--to the household, seeing that hebought the flour and the sugar, treated the daughter as his betrothed,called the Chief Clerk "Papenka," and occasionally kissed "Papenka's"hand. In fact, every one at the office supposed that, at the end ofFebruary (i.e. before the beginning of Lent) there would take placea wedding. Nay, the surly father even began to agitate with theauthorities on Chichikov's behalf, and so enabled our hero, on a vacancyoccurring, to attain the stool of
a Chief Clerk. Apparently this markedthe consummation of Chichikov's relations with his host, for he hastenedstealthily to pack his trunk and, the next day, figured in a freshlodging. Also, he ceased to call the Chief Clerk "Papenka," or to kisshis hand; and the matter of the wedding came to as abrupt a terminationas though it had never been mooted. Yet also he never failed to presshis late host's hand, whenever he met him, and to invite him to tea;while, on the other hand, for all his immobility and dry indifference,the Chief Clerk never failed to shake his head with a muttered, "Ah, myfine fellow, you have grown too proud, you have grown too proud."

  The foregoing constituted the most difficult step that our hero had tonegotiate. Thereafter things came with greater ease and swiftersuccess. Everywhere he attracted notice, for he developed withinhimself everything necessary for this world--namely, charm of mannerand bearing, and great diligence in business matters. Armed with theseresources, he next obtained promotion to what is known as "a fat post,"and used it to the best advantage; and even though, at that period,strict inquiry had begun to be made into the whole subject of bribes,such inquiry failed to alarm him--nay, he actually turned it to accountand thereby manifested the Russian resourcefulness which never fails toattain its zenith where extortion is concerned. His method of workingwas the following. As soon as a petitioner or a suitor put his hand intohis pocket, to extract thence the necessary letters of recommendationfor signature, Chichikov would smilingly exclaim as he detained hisinterlocutor's hand: "No, no! Surely you do not think that I--? But no,no! It is our duty, it is our obligation, and we do not require rewardsfor doing our work properly. So far as YOUR matter is concerned, you mayrest easy. Everything shall be carried through to-morrow. But may Ihave your address? There is no need to trouble yourself, seeing that thedocuments can easily be brought to you at your residence." Upon whichthe delighted suitor would return home in raptures, thinking: "Here, atlong last, is the sort of man so badly needed. A man of that kind isa jewel beyond price." Yet for a day, for two days--nay, even forthree--the suitor would wait in vain so far as any messengers withdocuments were concerned. Then he would repair to the office--to findthat his business had not so much as been entered upon! Lastly, he wouldconfront the "jewel beyond price." "Oh, pardon me, pardon me!" Chichikovwould exclaim in the politest of tones as he seized and grasped thevisitor's hands. "The truth is that we have SUCH a quantity of businesson hand! But the matter shall be put through to-morrow, and in themeanwhile I am most sorry about it." And with this would go the mostfascinating of gestures. Yet neither on the morrow, nor on the dayfollowing, nor on the third would documents arrive at the suitor'sabode. Upon that he would take thought as to whether something moreought not to have been done; and, sure enough, on his making inquiry,he would be informed that "something will have to be given to thecopyists." "Well, there can be no harm in that," he would reply. "As amatter of fact, I have ready a tchetvertak [39] or two." "Oh, no, no,"the answer would come. "Not a tchetvertak per copyist, but a rouble,is the fee." "What? A rouble per copyist?" "Certainly. What is there togrumble at in that? Of the money the copyists will receive a tchetvertakapiece, and the rest will go to the Government." Upon that thedisillusioned suitor would fly out upon the new order of things broughtabout by the inquiry into illicit fees, and curse both the tchinovniksand their uppish, insolent behaviour. "Once upon a time," would thesuitor lament, "one DID know what to do. Once one had tipped theDirector a bank-note, one's affair was, so to speak, in the hat. Butnow one has to pay a rouble per copyist after waiting a week becauseotherwise it was impossible to guess how the wind might set! The devilfly away with all 'disinterested' and 'trustworthy' tchinovniks!" Andcertainly the aggrieved suitor had reason to grumble, seeing that,now that bribe-takers had ceased to exist, and Directors had uniformlybecome men of honour and integrity, secretaries and clerks ought notwith impunity to have continued their thievish ways. In time thereopened out to Chichikov a still wider field, for a Commission wasappointed to supervise the erection of a Government building, and, onhis being nominated to that body, he proved himself one of its mostactive members. The Commission got to work without delay, but for aspace of six years had some trouble with the building in question.Either the climate hindered operations or the materials used were of thekind which prevents official edifices from ever rising higher than thebasement. But, meanwhile, OTHER quarters of the town saw arise, for eachmember of the Commission, a handsome house of the NON-official style ofarchitecture. Clearly the foundation afforded by the soil of those partswas better than that where the Government building was still engagedin hanging fire! Likewise the members of the Commission began to lookexceedingly prosperous, and to blossom out into family life; and, forthe first time in his existence, even Chichikov also departed from theiron laws of his self-imposed restraint and inexorable self-denial, andso far mitigated his heretofore asceticism as to show himself a man notaverse to those amenities which, during his youth, he had been capableof renouncing. That is to say, certain superfluities began to make theirappearance in his establishment. He engaged a good cook, took to wearinglinen shirts, bought for himself cloth of a pattern worn by no one elsein the province, figured in checks shot with the brightest of reds andbrowns, fitted himself out with two splendid horses (which he drove witha single pair of reins, added to a ring attachment for the trace horse),developed a habit of washing with a sponge dipped in eau-de-Cologne, andinvested in soaps of the most expensive quality, in order to communicateto his skin a more elegant polish.

  But suddenly there appeared upon the scene a new Director--a militaryman, and a martinet as regarded his hostility to bribe-takers andanything which might be called irregular. On the very day after hisarrival he struck fear into every breast by calling for accounts,discovering hosts of deficits and missing sums, and directing hisattention to the aforesaid fine houses of civilian architecture. Uponthat there ensued a complete reshuffling. Tchinovniks were retiredwholesale, and the houses were sequestrated to the Government, or elseconverted into various pious institutions and schools for soldiers'children. Thus the whole fabric, and especially Chichikov, came crashingto the ground. Particularly did our hero's agreeable face displease thenew Director. Why that was so it is impossible to say, but frequently,in cases of the kind, no reason exists. However, the Director conceiveda mortal dislike to him, and also extended that enmity to the whole ofChichikov's colleagues. But inasmuch as the said Director was a militaryman, he was not fully acquainted with the myriad subtleties of thecivilian mind; wherefore it was not long before, by dint of maintaininga discreet exterior, added to a faculty for humouring all and sundry,a fresh gang of tchinovniks succeeded in restoring him to mildness, andthe General found himself in the hands of greater thieves than before,but thieves whom he did not even suspect, seeing that he believedhimself to have selected men fit and proper, and even ventured toboast of possessing a keen eye for talent. In a trice the tchinovniksconcerned appraised his spirit and character; with the result that theentire sphere over which he ruled became an agency for the detection ofirregularities. Everywhere, and in every case, were those irregularitiespursued as a fisherman pursues a fat sturgeon with a gaff; and to suchan extent did the sport prove successful that almost in no time eachparticipator in the hunt was seen to be in possession of severalthousand roubles of capital. Upon that a large number of the former bandof tchinovniks also became converted to paths of rectitude, and wereallowed to re-enter the Service; but not by hook or by crook couldChichikov worm his way back, even though, incited thereto by sundryitems of paper currency, the General's first secretary and principalbear leader did all he could on our hero's behalf. It seemed that theGeneral was the kind of man who, though easily led by the nose (providedit was done without his knowledge) no sooner got an idea into his headthan it stuck there like a nail, and could not possibly be extracted;and all that the wily secretary succeeded in procuring was the tearingup of a certain dirty fragment of paper--even that being effected onlyby an appeal to the General's compassion, on the score of the u
nhappyfate which, otherwise, would befall Chichikov's wife and children (who,luckily, had no existence in fact).

  "Well," said Chichikov to himself, "I have done my best, and noweverything has failed. Lamenting my misfortune won't help me, but onlyaction." And with that he decided to begin his career anew, and oncemore to arm himself with the weapons of patience and self-denial. Thebetter to effect this, he had, of course to remove to another town. Yetsomehow, for a while, things miscarried. More than once he found himselfforced to exchange one post for another, and at the briefest of notice;and all of them were posts of the meanest, the most wretched, order.Yet, being a man of the utmost nicety of feeling, the fact that he foundhimself rubbing shoulders with anything but nice companions did notprevent him from preserving intact his innate love of what was decentand seemly, or from cherishing the instinct which led him to hankerafter office fittings of lacquered wood, with neatness and orderlinesseverywhere. Nor did he at any time permit a foul word to creep intohis speech, and would feel hurt even if in the speech of others thereoccurred a scornful reference to anything which pertained to rank anddignity. Also, the reader will be pleased to know that our hero changedhis linen every other day, and in summer, when the weather was veryhot, EVERY day, seeing that the very faintest suspicion of an unpleasantodour offended his fastidiousness. For the same reason it was hiscustom, before being valeted by Petrushka, always to plug his nostrilswith a couple of cloves. In short, there were many occasions when hisnerves suffered rackings as cruel as a young girl's, and so helped toincrease his disgust at having once more to associate with men who setno store by the decencies of life. Yet, though he braced himself to thetask, this period of adversity told upon his health, and he even grew atrifle shabby. More than once, on happening to catch sight of himselfin the mirror, he could not forbear exclaiming: "Holy Mother of God,but what a nasty-looking brute I have become!" and for a long whileafterwards could not with anything like sang-froid contemplate hisreflection. Yet throughout he bore up stoutly and patiently--and endedby being transferred to the Customs Department. It may be said that thedepartment had long constituted the secret goal of his ambition, forhe had noted the foreign elegancies with which its officials alwayscontrived to provide themselves, and had also observed that invariablythey were able to send presents of china and cambric to their sistersand aunts--well, to their lady friends generally. Yes, more than oncehe had said to himself with a sigh: "THAT is the department to which Iought to belong, for, given a town near the frontier, and a sensible setof colleagues, I might be able to fit myself out with excellent linenshirts." Also, it may be said that most frequently of all had histhoughts turned towards a certain quality of French soap which imparteda peculiar whiteness to the skin and a peerless freshness to the cheeks.Its name is known to God alone, but at least it was to be procured onlyin the immediate neighbourhood of the frontier. So, as I say, Chichikovhad long felt a leaning towards the Customs, but for a time had beenrestrained from applying for the same by the various current advantagesof the Building Commission; since rightly he had adjudged the latter toconstitute a bird in the hand, and the former to constitute only a birdin the bush. But now he decided that, come what might, into the Customshe must make his way. And that way he made, and then applied himselfto his new duties with a zeal born of the fact that he realised thatfortune had specially marked him out for a Customs officer. Indeed,such activity, perspicuity, and ubiquity as his had never been seen orthought of. Within four weeks at the most he had so thoroughly got hishand in that he was conversant with Customs procedure in every detail.Not only could he weigh and measure, but also he could divine froman invoice how many arshins of cloth or other material a given piececontained, and then, taking a roll of the latter in his hand, couldspecify at once the number of pounds at which it would tip the scale. Asfor searchings, well, even his colleagues had to admit that he possessedthe nose of a veritable bloodhound, and that it was impossible notto marvel at the patience wherewith he would try every button of thesuspected person, yet preserve, throughout, a deadly politeness and anicy sang-froid which surpass belief. And while the searched were raging,and foaming at the mouth, and feeling that they would give worlds toalter his smiling exterior with a good, resounding slap, he wouldmove not a muscle of his face, nor abate by a jot the urbanity of hisdemeanour, as he murmured, "Do you mind so far incommoding yourself asto stand up?" or "Pray step into the next room, madam, where the wifeof one of our staff will attend you," or "Pray allow me to slip thispenknife of mine into the lining of your coat" (after which he wouldextract thence shawls and towels with as much nonchalance as hewould have done from his own travelling-trunk). Even his superiorsacknowledged him to be a devil at the job, rather than a human being, soperfect was his instinct for looking into cart-wheels, carriage-poles,horses' ears, and places whither an author ought not to penetrate evenin thought--places whither only a Customs official is permitted to go.The result was that the wretched traveller who had just crossed thefrontier would, within a few minutes, become wholly at sea, and, wipingaway the perspiration, and breaking out into body flushes, would bereduced to crossing himself and muttering, "Well, well, well!" In fact,such a traveller would feel in the position of a schoolboy who, havingbeen summoned to the presence of the headmaster for the ostensiblepurpose of being given an order, has found that he receives, instead, asound flogging. In short, for some time Chichikov made it impossiblefor smugglers to earn a living. In particular, he reduced PolishJewry almost to despair, so invincible, so almost unnatural, was therectitude, the incorruptibility which led him to refrain from convertinghimself into a small capitalist with the aid of confiscated goods andarticles which, "to save excessive clerical labour," had failed to behanded over to the Government. Also, without saying it goes thatsuch phenomenally zealous and disinterested service attracted generalastonishment, and, eventually, the notice of the authorities; whereuponhe received promotion, and followed that up by mooting a scheme forthe infallible detection of contrabandists, provided that he could befurnished with the necessary authority for carrying out the same. Atonce such authority was accorded him, as also unlimited power to conductevery species of search and investigation. And that was all hewanted. It happened that previously there had been formed a well-foundassociation for smuggling on regular, carefully prepared lines, andthat this daring scheme seemed to promise profit to the extent ofsome millions of money: yet, though he had long had knowledge of it,Chichikov had said to the association's emissaries, when sent to buy himover, "The time is not yet." But now that he had got all the reins intohis hands, he sent word of the fact to the gang, and with it the remark,"The time is NOW." Nor was he wrong in his calculations, for, withinthe space of a year, he had acquired what he could not have made duringtwenty years of non-fraudulent service. With similar sagacity he had,during his early days in the department, declined altogether to enterinto relations with the association, for the reason that he had thenbeen a mere cipher, and would have come in for nothing large in the wayof takings; but now--well, now it was another matter altogether, andhe could dictate what terms he liked. Moreover, that the affair mightprogress the more smoothly, he suborned a fellow tchinovnik of the typewhich, in spite of grey hairs, stands powerless against temptation;and, the contract concluded, the association duly proceeded to business.Certainly business began brilliantly. But probably most of my readersare familiar with the oft-repeated story of the passage of Spanish sheepacross the frontier in double fleeces which carried between their outerlayers and their inner enough lace of Brabant to sell to the tune ofmillions of roubles; wherefore I will not recount the story again beyondsaying that those journeys took place just when Chichikov had becomehead of the Customs, and that, had he not a hand in the enterprise, notall the Jews in the world could have brought it to success. By the timethat three or four of these ovine invasions had taken place, Chichikovand his accomplice had come to be the possessors of four hundredthousand roubles apiece; while some even aver that the former's gainstotalled half a million, owing to
the greater industry which he haddisplayed in the matter. Nor can any one but God say to what a figurethe fortunes of the pair might not eventually have attained, had not anawkward contretemps cut right across their arrangements. That is tosay, for some reason or another the devil so far deprived thesetchinovnik-conspirators of sense as to make them come to words withone another, and then to engage in a quarrel. Beginning with a heatedargument, this quarrel reached the point of Chichikov--who was,possibly, a trifle tipsy--calling his colleague a priest's son; andthough that description of the person so addressed was perfectlyaccurate, he chose to take offence, and to answer Chichikov with thewords (loudly and incisively uttered), "It is YOU who have a priest foryour father," and to add to that (the more to incense his companion),"Yes, mark you! THAT is how it is." Yet, though he had thus turned thetables upon Chichikov with a tu quoque, and then capped that exploitwith the words last quoted, the offended tchinovnik could not remainsatisfied, but went on to send in an anonymous document to theauthorities. On the other hand, some aver that it was over a woman thatthe pair fell out--over a woman who, to quote the phrase then currentamong the staff of the Customs Department, was "as fresh and as strongas the pulp of a turnip," and that night-birds were hired to assault ourhero in a dark alley, and that the scheme miscarried, and that in anycase both Chichikov and his friend had been deceived, seeing that theperson to whom the lady had really accorded her favours was a certainstaff-captain named Shamsharev. However, only God knows the truth of thematter. Let the inquisitive reader ferret it out for himself. The factremains that a complete exposure of the dealings with the contrabandistsfollowed, and that the two tchinovniks were put to the question,deprived of their property, and made to formulate in writing all thatthey had done. Against this thunderbolt of fortune the State Councillorcould make no headway, and in some retired spot or another sank intooblivion; but Chichikov put a brave face upon the matter, for, inspite of the authorities' best efforts to smell out his gains, he hadcontrived to conceal a portion of them, and also resorted to everysubtle trick of intellect which could possibly be employed by anexperienced man of the world who has a wide knowledge of his fellows.Nothing which could be effected by pleasantness of demeanour, by movingoratory, by clouds of flattery, and by the occasional insertion ofa coin into a palm did he leave undone; with the result that he wasretired with less ignominy than was his companion, and escaped actualtrial on a criminal charge. Yet he issued stripped of all his capital,stripped of his imported effects, stripped of everything. That is tosay, all that remained to him consisted of ten thousand roubles which hehad stored against a rainy day, two dozen linen shirts, a small britchkaof the type used by bachelors, and two serving-men named Selifan andPetrushka. Yes, and an impulse of kindness moved the tchinovniks of theCustoms also to set aside for him a few cakes of the soap which he hadfound so excellent for the freshness of the cheeks. Thus once more ourhero found himself stranded. And what an accumulation of misfortunes haddescended upon his head!--though, true, he termed them "suffering in theService in the cause of Truth." Certainly one would have thought that,after these buffetings and trials and changes of fortune--after thistaste of the sorrows of life--he and his precious ten thousand roubleswould have withdrawn to some peaceful corner in a provincial town,where, clad in a stuff dressing-gown, he could have sat and listened tothe peasants quarrelling on festival days, or (for the sake of a breathof fresh air) have gone in person to the poulterer's to finger chickensfor soup, and so have spent a quiet, but not wholly useless, existence;but nothing of the kind took place, and therein we must do justice tothe strength of his character. In other words, although he had undergonewhat, to the majority of men, would have meant ruin and discouragementand a shattering of ideals, he still preserved his energy. True,downcast and angry, and full of resentment against the world in general,he felt furious with the injustice of fate, and dissatisfied withthe dealings of men; yet he could not forbear courting additionalexperiences. In short, the patience which he displayed was such as tomake the wooden persistency of the German--a persistency merely due tothe slow, lethargic circulation of the Teuton's blood--seem nothing atall, seeing that by nature Chichikov's blood flowed strongly, andthat he had to employ much force of will to curb within himself thoseelements which longed to burst forth and revel in freedom. He thoughtthings over, and, as he did so, a certain spice of reason appeared inhis reflections.

  "How have I come to be what I am?" he said to himself. "Why hasmisfortune overtaken me in this way? Never have I wronged a poor person,or robbed a widow, or turned any one out of doors: I have always beencareful only to take advantage of those who possess more than theirshare. Moreover, I have never gleaned anywhere but where every one elsewas gleaning; and, had I not done so, others would have gleaned in myplace. Why, then, should those others be prospering, and I be sunk aslow as a worm? What am I? What am I good for? How can I, in future, hopeto look any honest father of a family in the face? How shall I escapebeing tortured with the thought that I am cumbering the ground? What,in the years to come, will my children say, save that 'our father was abrute, for he left us nothing to live upon?'"

  Here I may remark that we have seen how much thought Chichikov devotedto his future descendants. Indeed, had not there been constantlyrecurring to his mind the insistent question, "What will my childrensay?" he might not have plunged into the affair so deeply. Nevertheless,like a wary cat which glances hither and thither to see whether itsmistress be not coming before it can make off with whatsoever firstfalls to its paw (butter, fat, lard, a duck, or anything else), so ourfuture founder of a family continued, though weeping and bewailinghis lot, to let not a single detail escape his eye. That is to say,he retained his wits ever in a state of activity, and kept his brainconstantly working. All that he required was a plan. Once more he pulledhimself together, once more he embarked upon a life of toil, once morehe stinted himself in everything, once more he left clean and decentsurroundings for a dirty, mean existence. In other words, untilsomething better should turn up, he embraced the calling of an ordinaryattorney--a calling which, not then possessed of a civic status, wasjostled on very side, enjoyed little respect at the hands of the minorlegal fry (or, indeed, at its own), and perforce met with universalslights and rudeness. But sheer necessity compelled Chichikov to facethese things. Among commissions entrusted to him was that of placing inthe hands of the Public Trustee several hundred peasants who belongedto a ruined estate. The estate had reached its parlous condition throughcattle disease, through rascally bailiffs, through failures of theharvest, through such epidemic diseases that had killed off the bestworkmen, and, last, but not least, through the senseless conduct of theowner himself, who had furnished a house in Moscow in the latest style,and then squandered his every kopeck, so that nothing was left forhis further maintenance, and it became necessary to mortgage theremains--including the peasants--of the estate. In those days mortgageto the Treasury was an innovation looked upon with reserve, and, asattorney in the matter, Chichikov had first of all to "entertain" everyofficial concerned (we know that, unless that be previously done, unlessa whole bottle of madeira first be emptied down each clerical throat,not the smallest legal affair can be carried through), and to explain,for the barring of future attachments, that half of the peasants weredead.

  "And are they entered on the revision lists?" asked the secretary."Yes," replied Chichikov. "Then what are you boggling at?" continued theSecretary. "Should one soul die, another will be born, and in time growup to take the first one's place." Upon that there dawned on our heroone of the most inspired ideas which ever entered the human brain. "Whata simpleton I am!" he thought to himself. "Here am I looking about formy mittens when all the time I have got them tucked into my belt. Why,were I myself to buy up a few souls which are dead--to buy them beforea new revision list shall have been made, the Council of Public Trustmight pay me two hundred roubles apiece for them, and I might findmyself with, say, a capital of two hundred thousand roubles! The presentmoment is particularly propitio
us, since in various parts of the countrythere has been an epidemic, and, glory be to God, a large number ofsouls have died of it. Nowadays landowners have taken to card-playingand junketting and wasting their money, or to joining the Civil Servicein St. Petersburg; consequently their estates are going to rack andruin, and being managed in any sort of fashion, and succeeding in payingtheir dues with greater difficulty each year. That being so, not a manof the lot but would gladly surrender to me his dead souls rather thancontinue paying the poll-tax; and in this fashion I might make--well,not a few kopecks. Of course there are difficulties, and, to avoidcreating a scandal, I should need to employ plenty of finesse; but manwas given his brain to USE, not to neglect. One good point about thescheme is that it will seem so improbable that in case of an accident,no one in the world will believe in it. True, it is illegal to buy ormortgage peasants without land, but I can easily pretend to be buyingthem only for transferment elsewhere. Land is to be acquired in theprovinces of Taurida and Kherson almost for nothing, provided that oneundertakes subsequently to colonise it; so to Kherson I will 'transfer'them, and long may they live there! And the removal of my dead soulsshall be carried out in the strictest legal form; and if the authoritiesshould want confirmation by testimony, I shall produce a letter signedby my own superintendent of the Khersonian rural police--that is tosay, by myself. Lastly, the supposed village in Kherson shall be calledChichikovoe--better still Pavlovskoe, according to my Christian name."

  In this fashion there germinated in our hero's brain that strange schemefor which the reader may or may not be grateful, but for which theauthor certainly is so, seeing that, had it never occurred to Chichikov,this story would never have seen the light.

  After crossing himself, according to the Russian custom, Chichikov setabout carrying out his enterprise. On pretence of selecting a placewherein to settle, he started forth to inspect various corners of theRussian Empire, but more especially those which had suffered fromsuch unfortunate accidents as failures of the harvest, a high rate ofmortality, or whatsoever else might enable him to purchase souls at thelowest possible rate. But he did not tackle his landowners haphazard: herather selected such of them as seemed more particularly suited to histaste, or with whom he might with the least possible trouble concludeidentical agreements; though, in the first instance, he always tried, bygetting on terms of acquaintanceship--better still, of friendship--withthem, to acquire the souls for nothing, and so to avoid purchase at all.In passing, my readers must not blame me if the characters whom theyhave encountered in these pages have not been altogether to theirliking. The fault is Chichikov's rather than mine, for he is the master,and where he leads we must follow. Also, should my readers gird at mefor a certain dimness and want of clarity in my principal charactersand actors, that will be tantamount to saying that never do the broadtendency and the general scope of a work become immediately apparent.Similarly does the entry to every town--the entry even to the Capitalitself--convey to the traveller such an impression of vagueness thatat first everything looks grey and monotonous, and the lines of smokyfactories and workshops seem never to be coming to an end; but in timethere will begin also to stand out the outlines of six-storied mansions,and of shops and balconies, and wide perspectives of streets, and amedley of steeples, columns, statues, and turrets--the whole framed inrattle and roar and the infinite wonders which the hand and the brain ofmen have conceived. Of the manner in which Chichikov's first purchaseswere made the reader is aware. Subsequently he will see also how theaffair progressed, and with what success or failure our hero met,and how Chichikov was called upon to decide and to overcome even moredifficult problems than the foregoing, and by what colossal forces thelevers of his far-flung tale are moved, and how eventually the horizonwill become extended until everything assumes a grandiose and a lyricaltendency. Yes, many a verst of road remains to be travelled by a partymade up of an elderly gentleman, a britchka of the kind affected bybachelors, a valet named Petrushka, a coachman named Selifan, andthree horses which, from the Assessor to the skewbald, are known to usindividually by name. Again, although I have given a full description ofour hero's exterior (such as it is), I may yet be asked for an inclusivedefinition also of his moral personality. That he is no hero compoundedof virtues and perfections must be already clear. Then WHAT is he? Avillain? Why should we call him a villain? Why should we be so hard upona fellow man? In these days our villains have ceased to exist. Ratherit would be fairer to call him an ACQUIRER. The love of acquisition, thelove of gain, is a fault common to many, and gives rise to many and manya transaction of the kind generally known as "not strictly honourable."True, such a character contains an element of ugliness, and the samereader who, on his journey through life, would sit at the board of acharacter of this kind, and spend a most agreeable time with him, wouldbe the first to look at him askance if he should appear in the guise ofthe hero of a novel or a play. But wise is the reader who, on meetingsuch a character, scans him carefully, and, instead of shrinking fromhim with distaste, probes him to the springs of his being. The humanpersonality contains nothing which may not, in the twinkling of an eye,become altogether changed--nothing in which, before you can look round,there may not spring to birth some cankerous worm which is destined tosuck thence the essential juice. Yes, it is a common thing to see notonly an overmastering passion, but also a passion of the most pettyorder, arise in a man who was born to better things, and lead him bothto forget his greatest and most sacred obligations, and to see only inthe veriest trifles the Great and the Holy. For human passions are asnumberless as is the sand of the seashore, and go on to become his mostinsistent of masters. Happy, therefore, the man who may choose fromamong the gamut of human passions one which is noble! Hour by hour willthat instinct grow and multiply in its measureless beneficence; hour byhour will it sink deeper and deeper into the infinite paradise of hissoul. But there are passions of which a man cannot rid himself, seeingthat they are born with him at his birth, and he has no power to abjurethem. Higher powers govern those passions, and in them is somethingwhich will call to him, and refuse to be silenced, to the end of hislife. Yes, whether in a guise of darkness, or whether in a guise whichwill become converted into a light to lighten the world, they will andmust attain their consummation on life's field: and in either case theyhave been evoked for man's good. In the same way may the passionwhich drew our Chichikov onwards have been one that was independent ofhimself; in the same way may there have lurked even in his cold essencesomething which will one day cause men to humble themselves in the dustbefore the infinite wisdom of God.

  Yet that folk should be dissatisfied with my hero matters nothing. Whatmatters is the fact that, under different circumstances, their approvalcould have been taken as a foregone conclusion. That is to say, had notthe author pried over-deeply into Chichikov's soul, nor stirred up inits depths what shunned and lay hidden from the light, nor disclosedthose of his hero's thoughts which that hero would have not havedisclosed even to his most intimate friend; had the author, indeed,exhibited Chichikov just as he exhibited himself to the townsmen ofN. and Manilov and the rest; well, then we may rest assured that everyreader would have been delighted with him, and have voted him a mostinteresting person. For it is not nearly so necessary that Chichikovshould figure before the reader as though his form and person wereactually present to the eye as that, on concluding a perusal of thiswork, the reader should be able to return, unharrowed in soul, to thatcult of the card-table which is the solace and delight of all goodRussians. Yes, readers of this book, none of you really care to seehumanity revealed in its nakedness. "Why should we do so?" you say."What would be the use of it? Do we not know for ourselves that humanlife contains much that is gross and contemptible? Do we not with ourown eyes have to look upon much that is anything but comforting?Far better would it be if you would put before us what is comely andattractive, so that we might forget ourselves a little." In the samefashion does a landowner say to his bailiff: "Why do you come and tellme that the affairs of my estate
are in a bad way? I know that withoutYOUR help. Have you nothing else to tell me? Kindly allow me to forgetthe fact, or else to remain in ignorance of it, and I shall be muchobliged to you." Whereafter the said landowner probably proceeds tospend on his diversion the money which ought to have gone towards therehabilitation of his affairs.

  Possibly the author may also incur censure at the hands of thoseso-called "patriots" who sit quietly in corners, and become capitaliststhrough making fortunes at the expense of others. Yes, let but somethingwhich they conceive to be derogatory to their country occur--forinstance, let there be published some book which voices the bittertruth--and out they will come from their hiding-places like a spiderwhich perceives a fly to be caught in its web. "Is it well to proclaimthis to the world, and to set folk talking about it?" they will cry."What you have described touches US, is OUR affair. Is conduct of thatkind right? What will foreigners say? Does any one care calmly to sitby and hear himself traduced? Why should you lead foreigners to supposethat all is not well with us, and that we are not patriotic?" Well, tothese sage remarks no answer can really be returned, especially to suchof the above as refer to foreign opinion. But see here. There once livedin a remote corner of Russia two natives of the region indicated. One ofthose natives was a good man named Kifa Mokievitch, and a man of kindlydisposition; a man who went through life in a dressing-gown, and paid noheed to his household, for the reason that his whole being was centredupon the province of speculation, and that, in particular, he waspreoccupied with a philosophical problem usually stated by him thus:"A beast," he would say, "is born naked. Now, why should that be? Whyshould not a beast be born as a bird is born--that is to say, throughthe process of being hatched from an egg? Nature is beyond theunderstanding, however much one may probe her." This was the substanceof Kifa Mokievitch's reflections. But herein is not the chief point.The other of the pair was a fellow named Mofi Kifovitch, and son to thefirst named. He was what we Russians call a "hero," and while hisfather was pondering the parturition of beasts, his, the son's, lusty,twenty-year-old temperament was violently struggling for development.Yet that son could tackle nothing without some accident occurring. Atone moment would he crack some one's fingers in half, and at anotherwould he raise a bump on somebody's nose; so that both at homeand abroad every one and everything--from the serving-maid to theyard-dog--fled on his approach, and even the bed in his bedroom becameshattered to splinters. Such was Mofi Kifovitch; and with it all he hada kindly soul. But herein is not the chief point. "Good sir, good KifaMokievitch," servants and neighbours would come and say to the father,"what are you going to do about your Moki Kifovitch? We get no rest fromhim, he is so above himself." "That is only his play, that is only hisplay," the father would reply. "What else can you expect? It is too latenow to start a quarrel with him, and, moreover, every one would accuseme of harshness. True, he is a little conceited; but, were I to reprovehim in public, the whole thing would become common talk, and folk wouldbegin giving him a dog's name. And if they did that, would not theiropinion touch me also, seeing that I am his father? Also, I am busy withphilosophy, and have no time for such things. Lastly, Moki Kifovitchis my son, and very dear to my heart." And, beating his breast, KifaMokievitch again asserted that, even though his son should electto continue his pranks, it would not be for HIM, for the father,to proclaim the fact, or to fall out with his offspring. And, thisexpression of paternal feeling uttered, Kifa Mokievitch left MokiKifovitch to his heroic exploits, and himself returned to his belovedsubject of speculation, which now included also the problem, "Supposeelephants were to take to being hatched from eggs, would not theshell of such eggs be of a thickness proof against cannonballs, andnecessitate the invention of some new type of firearm?" Thus at the endof this little story we have these two denizens of a peaceful corner ofRussia looking thence, as from a window, in less terror of doing whatwas scandalous than of having it SAID of them that they were actingscandalously. Yes, the feeling animating our so-called "patriots" is nottrue patriotism at all. Something else lies beneath it. Who, if not anauthor, is to speak aloud the truth? Men like you, my pseudo-patriots,stand in dread of the eye which is able to discern, yet shrink fromusing your own, and prefer, rather, to glance at everything unheedingly.Yes, after laughing heartily over Chichikov's misadventures, and perhapseven commending the author for his dexterity of observation and prettyturn of wit, you will look at yourselves with redoubled pride and aself-satisfied smile, and add: "Well, we agree that in certain parts ofthe provinces there exists strange and ridiculous individuals, as wellas unconscionable rascals."

  Yet which of you, when quiet, and alone, and engaged in solitaryself-communion, would not do well to probe YOUR OWN souls, and to putto YOURSELVES the solemn question, "Is there not in ME an element ofChichikov?" For how should there not be? Which of you is not liable atany moment to be passed in the street by an acquaintance who, nudginghis neighbour, may say of you, with a barely suppressed sneer: "Look!there goes Chichikov! That is Chichikov who has just gone by!"

  But here are we talking at the top of our voices whilst all the time ourhero lies slumbering in his britchka! Indeed, his name has been repeatedso often during the recital of his life's history that he must almosthave heard us! And at any time he is an irritable, irascible fellow whenspoken of with disrespect. True, to the reader Chichikov's displeasurecannot matter a jot; but for the author it would mean ruin to quarrelwith his hero, seeing that, arm in arm, Chichikov and he have yet far togo.

  "Tut, tut, tut!" came in a shout from Chichikov. "Hi, Selifan!"

  "What is it?" came the reply, uttered with a drawl.

  "What is it? Why, how dare you drive like that? Come! Bestir yourself alittle!"

  And indeed, Selifan had long been sitting with half-closed eyes, andhands which bestowed no encouragement upon his somnolent steeds save anoccasional flicking of the reins against their flanks; whilst Petrushkahad lost his cap, and was leaning backwards until his head had come torest against Chichikov's knees--a position which necessitated his beingawakened with a cuff. Selifan also roused himself, and apportioned tothe skewbald a few cuts across the back of a kind which at least had theeffect of inciting that animal to trot; and when, presently, the othertwo horses followed their companion's example, the light britchka movedforwards like a piece of thistledown. Selifan flourished his whip andshouted, "Hi, hi!" as the inequalities of the road jerked him verticallyon his seat; and meanwhile, reclining against the leather cushionsof the vehicle's interior, Chichikov smiled with gratification at thesensation of driving fast. For what Russian does not love to drive fast?Which of us does not at times yearn to give his horses their head, andto let them go, and to cry, "To the devil with the world!"? At suchmoments a great force seems to uplift one as on wings; and one flies,and everything else flies, but contrariwise--both the verst stones, andtraders riding on the shafts of their waggons, and the forest withdark lines of spruce and fir amid which may be heard the axe of thewoodcutter and the croaking of the raven. Yes, out of a dim, remotedistance the road comes towards one, and while nothing save the sky andthe light clouds through which the moon is cleaving her way seem halted,the brief glimpses wherein one can discern nothing clearly have in thema pervading touch of mystery. Ah, troika, troika, swift as a bird, whowas it first invented you? Only among a hardy race of folk can you havecome to birth--only in a land which, though poor and rough, lies spreadover half the world, and spans versts the counting whereof would leaveone with aching eyes. Nor are you a modishly-fashioned vehicle of theroad--a thing of clamps and iron. Rather, you are a vehicle but shapenand fitted with the axe or chisel of some handy peasant of Yaroslav.Nor are you driven by a coachman clothed in German livery, but by a manbearded and mittened. See him as he mounts, and flourishes his whip, andbreaks into a long-drawn song! Away like the wind go the horses, andthe wheels, with their spokes, become transparent circles, and theroad seems to quiver beneath them, and a pedestrian, with a cry ofastonishment, halts to watch the vehicle as it flies, flies, flies onits w
ay until it becomes lost on the ultimate horizon--a speck amid acloud of dust!

  And you, Russia of mine--are not you also speeding like a troika whichnought can overtake? Is not the road smoking beneath your wheels, andthe bridges thundering as you cross them, and everything being left inthe rear, and the spectators, struck with the portent, halting to wonderwhether you be not a thunderbolt launched from heaven? What does thatawe-inspiring progress of yours foretell? What is the unknown forcewhich lies within your mysterious steeds? Surely the winds themselvesmust abide in their manes, and every vein in their bodies be anear stretched to catch the celestial message which bids them, withiron-girded breasts, and hooves which barely touch the earth asthey gallop, fly forward on a mission of God? Whither, then, areyou speeding, O Russia of mine? Whither? Answer me! But no answercomes--only the weird sound of your collar-bells. Rent into a thousandshreds, the air roars past you, for you are overtaking the whole world,and shall one day force all nations, all empires to stand aside, to giveyou way!

  1841.

  PART II